Hallways

If my body was a housemy mind would be constructed of hallwaysscarcely lit through blinded windows dust intermittently dancing past slivers of light

I would fill the walls with expressions of my lifepaintings composed in palettes of thought frames of reference observed at night when before shutting my eyes searching for tangible proof that at my epicenter I did not allow bitterness to prevail

A record that some daysmy insides did not feel they had been created by the hand of a holly architectbut by children at play with matches